Like Baseball and Apple Pie
by LawWren12
Summary: High school is a long way from the playground.  For the kids at Third Street School things have changed a lot, but maybe not as much as they think.  A Butch/Hustler Kid story.
1. Chapter 1

Hi guys! This is my first ever fic for this series but I'm really excited to see what you think. Rating will (hopefully) go up in the future as I get things rolling. Also, see if you can spot all the cameos from the show, some will be obvious but some may be a bit harder. Let me know in the comments.

Also a huge thanks to FlipoutPenguin for being such a wonderful Beta.

xxxxx

Most people thought that Butch Caldavera was a loner, off in the shadows watching the rest of the world get on with their lives, never involved in the day to day drama that was Oak Street High. And for the most part, they were right.

The smoke from his cigarette drifted idly in the stagnant air of the alley. The breezeway between the main building and the agro lab was the best place he had found so far to hang out. The teachers all took their smoke breaks here, so there was no major need to hide it. But the real draw was the perfect view he had of the main courtyard in front of the school.

Butch had learned a long time ago that knowing what was going on was important. Even if it had nothing to do with him, it paid to keep an eye out for trouble. It was his last year at Oak Street High, nd he wanted it to go smoothly.

Ashley A. and Ashley T. were gabbing over by the steps, something about spring fashions. Ashley B. had left the group a couple of years ago when she grew out of the whole clique cliché. It turned out alright, though, since she and TJ got together. They were a cute couple, believe it or not. Ashley Q. had been kicked out last year when she had gotten pregnant. That was just too 'Scandalous!' for the last of the Ashleys. Vince and Lawson were shooting hoops on the worn out concrete court. Several others were watching the trash talking best friends as they kept up with each other.

TJ was leaning on his bike talking to Spinelli about last night's baseball game. The impenetrable group from grade school had been broken up over time. First, Gus' family had moved again, despite his father's promise. He never could have kept it anyhow. Then Gretchen had gotten the chance of a lifetime to study at a genius academy in Japan. She was reluctant to take it, but her friends would never have let her turn down such a huge opportunity. And just last year Mikey had moved to California and started at an amazing school of performing arts. It was hard on the last of the group, but they had survived.

The rest of the students were scattered about the crumbling courtyard, clustered under the huge shade trees and sitting on the stone steps chatting, waiting for the bell.

He took a final draw on his cigarette, letting his eyes scan the yard one last time. Nothing new, and nothing out of the ordinary. Just the way he liked it. The bell rang and everyone began gathering up bags and making their way into the old stone building. He stubbed the butt out in the wall and followed everyone inside.

xxxxx

The ringing of the bell was almost drowned out by the sound of scraping desks and chatting students. The next class was his free period. Most people had club meetings or got extra tutoring during the half hour of free time. Butch had other ideas.

If you asked him, Butch would tell you that the library was the only good thing about Oak Street High. The decrepit building had leaking pipes, crumbling brick, chipped tile, and an amazing collection of books. The smell of dust and old paper greeted him as he pushed open the heavy wooden doors. He sighed in relief. This was his sanctuary.

Signing in on the sheet at the desk, he grabbed a book off the historical fiction shelf. It was one he had been reading for the past couple of days. Wandering out of the stacks of books, he found his favorite spot in the back. Several large, mismatched arm chairs were placed around low wooden tables, creating a more relaxed place to read.

The soft *tika tik* sound he could hear as he approached reminded him of the other reason he liked to spend free period here.

"Hey, Frankie," he said as he rounded the edge of a large leather chair. The hustler was seated on the floor leaning over one of the dusty tables, his fingers tapping away on his calculator, a pencil behind his ear. Francis Kelly used his free period to add up receipts and balance his books. For the past three years, Butch had spent his free period here. It helped a bit that Frankie was the one to provide his cigarettes. He paid the hustler seven bucks a week for a pack of Camels, but he didn't have to worry about getting caught buying them. It was a good arrangement, and the quiet company was welcome.

"Hey Butch. What's goin' on, man?" Frankie didn't bother to look up at his friend as Butch fell into the chair beside him. Cracking his book, Butch pulled a pair of black reading glasses out of his backpack and slid them on.

"Not much." Butch used the cover of his book to look over his glasses at his friend.

It was weird how well they really got along. Considering they never really talked, Butch felt closer to the hustler than anyone else at school. Maybe it was just a silent understanding of two people outside of the crowds. Maybe it was something else.

Butch let his gaze linger on Francis' face. Brown eyes were hooded in concentration, his dark brows furrowed. His strong jaw was getting a bit of stubble, and his thick chestnut hair was styled in neat spikes. Frankie looked really good. Butch smiled to himself and went back to his book.

xxxxx

Francis Kelly had a problem. Not one of his usual problems, either. Those he could handle. He could handle getting Ashley T's favorite wine from the south of France. He could HANDLE getting rare baseball cards at a quarter the price. He could HANDLE anything, but this was just a little outside the realm of his expertise.

He mentally kicked himself as he looked at the mess he had made of his figures. Trashing the sheet and starting over, he pushed his predicament out of his mind and concentrated on the numbers. Or he tried to.

A quick glance up proved that Butch was focused on his book, as usual. If the hustler was honest, this was his favorite time of the day. It was his quiet, comfortable time away from customers, teachers, and the constant noise of the school. He could think, plan, and usually calculate in peace here. But today, something was bothering him, and the source of his irritation was sitting not three feet from him.

According to a usually reliable source, Butch had broken up with his girlfriend recently. This was not unusual. Girls loved Butch. He was handsome, charming, and mysterious in that bad boy way all girls seemed to love. The way he heard it, Butch had broken up with Amy when she demanded he give up smoking. That was all well and good; Frankie had never liked her anyway. What was bothering him was how relieved he was, like a great weight was lifted off his shoulders. He should feel bad. One of the few people he would call a friend had just lost a girl he really cared about, and the hustler was glad. He was an asshole.

Then again, Butch didn't seem too affected by it. Maybe he was just as relieved as Frankie was.

"Hey, man." Frankie waited for his friend to look up from his book before continuing. "I heard about you and Amy. I'm sorry. I know you really liked her." He watched as Butch sighed and pulled his glasses off to rub his eyes. He looked worn out just by the mention of the girl. Frankie thought maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.

"Yeah, I did. But I guess it was for the best. I mean, she knew I smoked when we got together. Lately, she's just been too much, always picking things apart. It was time for us to break up." He gave a half smile and shook his head.

"Well, if you ever wanna… hang out or somethin'…" the hustler trailed off awkwardly. This was unfamiliar territory for him. He never had time to just hang out with anyone. But Butch was ginning at him, so everything must be good. He just grinned back before finally getting back to his numbers. This time it was much easier to concentrate.


	2. Chapter 2

It was Friday! Finally, the weekend was here, and it was going to be great. Butch bounded over the stair rail and took the steps three at a time. He slowed down as he reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped out into the side yard of the school.

"Hey, Butch!" the voice of TJ Detweiler greeted him.

"Hey, TJ. What's up?" Butch asked as the other boy rode up on his bike. TJ was taller than him now. Well, bigger in general. In the sixth grade, TJ had been introduced to auto shop and had never looked back. He had filled out and bulked up thanks to his job at the local body shop. He was saving up to buy a 1968 Cadillac Fleetwood, so for now, all he was driving was a bike.

"Not much. You look like you've got plans for tonight, though." TJ grinned and did a figure eight around his friend.

"Yeah, I guess. The Shining is playing at the Classic. Amy and I are… shit." Butch smacked himself in the forehead, his good mood ruined. He had been all ready for their date, a movie at the old revival theater downtown; maybe they would grab some food at Kelso's. Too bad there was no one to go with now. That was the thing he missed the most about Amy; having someone to spend some time with.

"Ouch. Sorry, man," TJ said sympathetically. He stopped his circling to lean awkwardly on the handlebars.

"Nah… Don't worry about it. I'm not really all that upset. I just really wanted to go out, and now I've got no one to go with," Butch reasoned.

"Well I'd go with you. I love The Shining, but I'm working tonight." He smiled as he said this, though, glad that his friend wasn't too hurt by the breakup.

"Don't worry about it." Butch grinned back at him. Running a hand through his dual colored hair, he stretched and sighed. "I'll find something to do."

"See you later, then," the other boy called as he remounted his bike and rode off. Butch reached into the pocket of his leather jacket, pulling out his cigarettes and lighter. He had bought the old Zippo off of Frankie when he first started smoking back in the eighth grade. It was chrome with intricate swirls and leaves etched into it. With a flick of the lighter, he lit his cigarette and took a long drag. He had really been looking forward to a night out after a long week. Looking down at the lighter still clutched in his hand, an idea struck him. Digging his wallet out of his backpack, he found the worn out business card he'd gotten years ago. No name adorned the plain white card, just a cell phone number. Punching the number into his cell, he waited for an answer.

"What cha' need?" the voice on the other end of the line asked sharply.

"Hey, Frankie. You still up for hanging out?" Butch asked tentatively. It sounded like the hustler was in the middle of something.

"Butch? Sorry, thought you were someone else. Yeah, sure. I can do something. What did you have in mind?" The voice was much more at ease now. Butch smiled and relayed his plans for a movie and some food.

"Sounds good to me. I'll meet you at the theater," Frankie agreed. Hanging up his phone, Butch decided that the day was turning out pretty great after all.

xxxxx

Frankie hung up his cell and finally let himself relax. When he hadn't recognized the number, he had thought it was a new customer or maybe a supplier he didn't use often. But it was Butch, asking him to go out tonight. This was… interesting. He still had a while before he needed to leave, but a quick look at the schedule on his phone proved he had some time to kill. He took a last look at his stock before shutting the trunk of his jet black Subaru Legacy. He would have to unpack the new merchandise when he got home. Hopping into his, car he drove the familiar route home from the school.

His family lived on one of the nicer streets in the small town. His parents were well off and worked hard to stay that way. They had bought the tasteful two-story home when they had moved from Boston; Frankie was only five at the time. Now it was mostly him and his sister Gina to take care of the house. Frankie mowed the lawn every weekend, and Gina kept the inside spotless. With their parents' long hours and busy lives, he and Gina had grown close as they grew up. They had learned to take care of themselves.

Parking his car in the garage, he noticed the absence of Gina's silver Camaro. She was probably out with her friends. It was Friday after all. He grabbed the merchandise out of the trunk and placed it carefully on the shelves that lined the side of the garage. He took his shoes off in the adjoining laundry room, setting them neatly on the rug at the door. Stepping out into the kitchen, his socked feet slid across the polished black-blue tiles. The kitchen was spacious, with gleaming wood cabinets and quartz countertops. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, chugging half of it in one go.

Deciding on a shower before the movie, he padded down the hall and up the polished wooden staircase. The first door on the left led into his room, and the perfectly clean world his sister loved so much stopped short at the door. Clothes were draped over his desk chair, bed, and closet door. Books and papers were piled on the desk, various bits of merchandise and personal junk littered the corners and every available surface. The only refuge of neatness was a bookshelf on the far wall lined with carefully labeled ledgers, one for each year all the way back to the third grade.

He stripped down, tossing his clothes into the hamper in the closet. Stepping into the bathroom, he started the shower. Quickly going through his routine, he washed his face and hair. He dried off, tied the towel around his waist, and went to pick out his clothes. He flipped through the clothes in the closet, looking for something to wear. As he came to the back of the closet, he was surprised to see his old trench coat. He had stopped wearing it the first year of middle school when he finally realized how obvious it was. He gave up the practicality of carrying his stock on him and started keeping several rooms in the school and a warehouse at a storage facility full of goods, test answers, and contraband. He smiled and pushed the old coat back to the end of the closet.

Finally settling on a clean green t-shirt with a motorcycle logo on the back and a pair of dark jeans, he finished getting ready. He grabbed his wallet and keys off the dresser where he had thrown them. He descended the stairs and made his way to the laundry room again. Jamming his white Reeboks on, he grabbed a spare jacket off the pegs near the door. He tossed the jacket into the passenger seat of the car and started out of the garage.

The radio was playing John Mellencamp's 'Jack and Diane' and he couldn't help but hum along and tap his fingers on the steering wheel. He had the windows rolled down, the sweet smelling spring breeze whipping around the inside of the car. Several of his neighbors were out doing yard work. Mr. Prickly was out in his yard watering the flowerbeds from the hose. The former principal had retired a few years ago; his mood had improved a lot since then. He even waved pleasantly as Frankie drove by.

The Classic was an old revival theater on the other side of town. It showed old movies that most people had already seen for $2. While it was over fifty years old, it had been well maintained and was a frequent hangout for the local teenagers. It was cheap and good and located in the heart of downtown. He found a parking spot relatively easy around the back of the old brick building. He stepped out, locking the car behind him, and headed toward the front.

The acrid smell of cigarette smoke was the first thing he noticed when he entered the alley between the theater and the next building. As his eyes adjusted to the shadowed passage, he was able to make out the figure leaning against the wall.

Butch was standing just inside the mouth of the alleyway, the shadows nearly swallowing him up as he puffed on a cigarette. If it weren't for the bright white stripe of his hair, the hustler might not have noticed him. He was wearing a plain black tank top, the sleeveless shirt showing off his leanly muscled arms. Frankie had known that Butch was in good shape; he was athletic and took good care of himself, but knowing was a lot different than seeing. The tank was pulled low over a pair of faded jeans with the knees worn nearly through and the cuffs frayed and tattered. He stood with one sneakered foot propped on the wall behind him, the other keeping him upright. Obviously his friend had not seen him yet as he kept looking out towards the front of the building.

Frankie watched raptly as the other boy raised the cigarette to his mouth once again. He looked like something out of an old movie. The way he held the cigarette between his thumb and first two fingers, he could have been in a James Dean flick. The red ember flared brightly for a moment as Butch inhaled deeply. He exhaled slowly, the translucent smoke rolling over his lips to float away in intricate swirls. He casually tapped the built up ash away from the end and dropped the finished cigarette to the concrete, grinding it out under his black Converse. The action jolted Frankie from his dazed reverie.

"Hey Butch!" he called out to the other boy. Butch jumped a bit and turned to face him. As soon as he realized who it was, though, he smiled awkwardly and ran his hand through his dark hair.

"Hey, man. You're just in time. I thought you might be running late." Butch stepped out of the alley towards the front of the building. Frankie took the hint and followed him out into the sunlight and into the theater.

The warm afternoon sun drifted through the large windows in the lobby. Their shoes squeaked on the white tile floors as they approached the ticket booth.

"Hey, guys. What cha' seein'?" Jodie Vale asked as they approached the wooden booth. Her wavy red hair was pulled up in a high pony tail, and long gold and green earrings dangled almost to her shoulders. Even after hanging up her swing in middle school, Jodie had never taken her head out of the clouds.

"Can I get a ticket for 'The Shining'?" Butch asked as he pulled a couple of bucks from his wallet. Jodie grinned and took the bills, punching his ticket up on her computer.

"Here ya go!" she chirped happily, handing over the ticket, her earrings swaying and jingling as she spoke.

Taking the slip of paper, he headed over to the concession stand, leaving the hustler to get his own ticket.

"Hey, Frankie," Jodie greeted as he stepped up to the booth. "You keeping Butch company, huh? He probably needs it, with the break-up and all." She took his money, punching up the ticket for the movie.

"Yeah, uh… I guess," Frankie replied awkwardly. The truth was he had almost forgotten all about his friend's predicament. He had been so caught up in the fun of going out and how happy Butch seemed. He was an asshole. Again.

"You're a good guy Frankie," she said, unknowingly twisting the knife in his gut. "Oh! By the way, I wanted to ask you about getting me something." She reached under the counter and pulled out a well read copy of Plane & Pilot Magazine. He ignored his inner turmoil and listened to her description of some new aviator style jacket she wanted. Promising to have it by next week, he left her to get back to work and made his way over to Butch at the concession.

"Can I just get a large Pepsi, please?" he asked the woman behind the counter. He turned to Butch and eyed the mountain of popcorn and candy the other had purchased. Eventually, Butch managed to get his sweets arranged into a precarious pile and led the way into the darkened theater. Choosing seats near the back of the theater they settled in, Butch's snacks taking a seat of their own. It was only a few moments before the previews started to roll.


	3. Chapter 3

The lobby was still brightly lit by the afternoon sun when they exited the theater. Butch had to squint his eyes against the sudden onslaught after the hours of darkness. The Shining was one of his favorite movies, and the original was definitely the best. Once his eyes adjusted, he grabbed hold of Frankie's elbow and steered him from the theater. Jodie waved as they passed the ticket booth, her colorful bangles jingling with the movement.

Once outside, Butch let go of the hustler's sleeve easily falling into step next to his friend.

"Thanks for coming out with me, man," Butch started. He really did appreciate the company. It was nice to be with someone he was comfortable around. He and Amy had lost a lot of that over the last couple of months, and it was great to have that feeling again.

"No problem. I need to get out more. Start doing something other than work. My sister's been on me about it for a while now. She thinks I'm too much of a loner." Frankie was smiling slightly, watching a group of kids playing on the other side of the street. Butch was once more struck by how handsome Frankie really was. He wasn't a pretty boy for sure, wasn't a guy most girls these days giggled and swooned over. Butch could see the appeal, though.

He turned his head away, instead keeping his eyes forward as they continued on to Kelso's. He had been noticing Frankie more and more lately. It had hit him a while ago that this wasn't how most boys thought about their male friends. It had bothered him for a whole six days. The truth was that Butch was comfortable with himself to a degree most people his age usually didn't understand. This new knowledge about himself had shaken him, but by the sixth day he had come to the conclusion that it really didn't matter in the long run. He was still the same person, still had the same beliefs and values, still cared about Frankie. And that was alright.

"Hey." Frankie's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Earth to Butch! We're here, man." He was standing under the awning outside Kelso's, one hand on the door. Butch shook himself out of his internal musings.

"Sorry," he grinned and waved his hand dismissively. "Just thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself," Frankie laughed, stepping into the shop. The bell above the door rang as they crossed the threshold into the air conditioned shop. It was Friday night, so of course Kelso's was packed. Only luck allowed them to grab a booth near the front. But the crowd did not stop more people from squeezing into the small space of the store-slash-soda shop.

"Hey, Frankie," Sam Collins greeted as he and Dave passed their booth. The identical twins didn't really look identical anymore, Butch mused as the two squeezed into a booth down the aisle already filled with people. Dave had joined the football team back in freshman year and bulked up a bit. He had even shaved his head into a mohawk. Sam had strayed towards the other end of the spectrum, getting elected student council treasurer and keeping his glasses instead of getting contacts. The changes had not affected how close the two brothers were at all, or their love for dirt. They had jobs with Samson & Sons landscaping every summer, putting all that digging practice to good use.

"Why does Sam have a black eye?" Frankie asked casually, turning back to look at Butch. The other boy was trying to hide a smirk but wasn't doing it very well.

"What? Is it something awful? It is, isn't it? I don't wanna know." He shook his head emphatically. Butch watched the display, his grin growing with each exaggerated statement.

"It's not that bad," he assured. "From what I heard, Sam tried to dye Dave's hair hot pink while he was sleeping. Dave woke up, didn't recognize him, and clocked him pretty good. But some of his hair was already turning pink, so he decided to just finish it off."

"Well, that explains the sudden love of fluorescent colors," the hustler nodded, looking over at Dave's vibrant hair. The waitress came over and took their orders, returning quickly with drinks. The conversation was easy. They talked about classes and baseball, their fellow students and plans for the weekend.

"I'm going to the batting cages over at the park tomorrow morning," Butch explained. "I like to get some practice every weekend if I can." Butch had always loved baseball, had even thought about trying out for the school team. But early morning practices and staying after school just didn't cut it in his book. Now, he just played at the park and used it to keep in shape.

"I've got a few deals to run through in the morning. I need to call over to Uganda early so I catch them in the afternoon," Frankie took a sip of his drink and thought over his schedule.

"What on earth do you need to call Uganda for?" Butch asked. He looked skeptical but, everyone knew Frankie could get anything from anywhere. It made sense he would have contacts around the world. But Uganda?

"Coffee," he stated simply. "My sister loves Uganda's Robusta Coffee. I try and keep it in the house, and I sell it to that coffee place, The Grinder, in the next town."

Butch had to laugh; of course Frankie would find a way to turn a gift into a profit. He always did.

"I'll drop by the park tomorrow after I'm done, though. Maybe we can get lunch," Frankie suggested.

"Sure! That'd be great!" Butch had hoped he could goad the other boy into coming out again. It was always better with someone else, and the day had been fun. Frankie was grinning now, and Butch found that he had a hard time stopping his own smile.

They finished up their meal, paid, and left. The sun was low in the sky, turning the horizon a dull red. They walked back to the theater together, even though Butch's house was within walking distance in the other direction. Frankie's car was the only one left in the small parking lot. Opening the door, he leaned against the window.

"Thanks for inviting me along," he started. Butch just shrugged and waved dismissively. It was fun having the hustler around.

"No big deal, man. Happy for the company. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" Butch backed away from the car, letting Frankie get in and start it up.

"See ya', Butch," the hustler called as he began pulling away. Butch just gave a half wave and turned to make his way back down the alley. It had been a good night.

xxxx

Frankie turned the radio down on the drive home. His mind was a little too cluttered for distractions right now. He had had a great time tonight. It wasn't anything amazing, no "Best night ever!" feelings, just different. It was different to get away from work and spend some time just relaxing with a friend.

But Butch was fun to be around. Maybe it was just the lack of distractions, his focus being centered on Butch. Any other time he spent with friends, whether chatting with Ashley Q. or hanging out with TJ and Spinelli, he was also working. He was always easy to find; selling out of his car or his stock rooms at the school, sometimes people just came to hang around and talk. Tonight, it had just been him and Butch.

Frankie had almost convinced himself that it was the end of it. He just needed to take more time away from work to spend with friends. He was about to turn the radio back up when the smell of cigarette smoke caught his attention. He was stopped at a light near a local bar, a small crowd of people gathered around the entrance smoking. The image of Butch in the alley, a cigarette in hand, was suddenly all Frankie could think about. The way he would let a lit smoke hang casually between his full lips until he was ready to speak, how the smoke would curl in wisps around his face when he exhaled.

The beep of a horn snapped him out of his thoughts, and he began to move through the now green light. He shook his head to clear it, but the damage was done. If the heat he could feel on his cheeks and ears weren't enough proof, the tightness in his jeans certainly was. He was attracted to Butch.

He drove the rest of the way home on autopilot. His mind was in turmoil, and by the time he exited the car and made it into the house, he was sure he was going to be sick. The churning of his stomach reached a peak as he walked into the kitchen. He ran to the sink and emptied the last of his dinner into the basin.

"Frankie? That you?" Gina called. He tried to clear his throat and call back to her, but another wave of sickness overtook him and he couldn't. He heard her come around the corner into the kitchen but was too preoccupied to look up. Finally his stomach began to calm. He coughed and unclenched his fingers from the lip of the sink. A glass of cold water appeared in front of him, Gina's bright pink nail polish reflected in the clear glass. She leaned against the counter as he downed the water gratefully.

"Are you okay? That was pretty bad," she said as she turned to rinse out the sink. "Are you coming down with something?"

Frankie couldn't look at her right away. Just thinking of it made his stomach churn up the water he had just filled it with.

"I don't know. I feel a little better now, though," he lied. He tried to give her a half smile, but he could tell by the look on her face he had failed.

"Come on. I'm out on the patio. Come sit down for a while. You're really pale," she said as she guided him out onto the back patio. The lights were on in the yard, and the surround sound system was playing music. He could see she had gotten the patio furniture out of the basement and set them up, a Coke and a book marked where she had been sitting.

"You waiting up for me, sis?" he asked. She rolled her eyes and flopped back into her chair. He settled himself sideways on the porch swing and pulled his knees up to his chest.

"I wasn't waiting up. We went out to The Docks and they had a DJ. I was still a little wired when I got home so I was just reading."

She was looking at him now, expecting an explanation. The concern was obvious in her brown eyes, and his guts twisted with guilt. He hated making her worry.

"So what did you do tonight?" she asked. "Anything new with the business?"

For a moment, he considered lying, considered making up some story about spending the evening wheeling and dealing as usual.

"Actually, a friend invited me to the movies tonight." He was never a good liar anyway. Gina raised a perfect eyebrow in that questioning way she had.

"Q?" she asked curiously. Ashley Q. was probably the only other person he saw on a pretty regular basis. It was a good guess.

"Ah… no. It was Butch. Ya know, I talk about him sometimes…" He could feel the tightness in his stomach twist back up just at the mention of the other boy.

"Oh," she responded carefully. "And you went? You never go out if you have work to do." She had a point. It was unusual for him.

"I didn't have a lot to do tonight. We just went to the Classic and then to Kelsos," he explained. He was trying to act like it was nothing.

"Well, I'm glad. You need to get out more," she seemed satisfied with the answer, maybe even a little smug that he was finally taking her advice.

"Yeah, um… I think I'm just going to go up to bed," he finished awkwardly. Rising off the swing, he gave a halfhearted goodnight as he went back inside.

The air conditioner made goosebumps on his arms as he stepped in from the heat of the outside. Upstairs in his room, he made his way to the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind him. He gripped the edge of the sink so hard his knuckles hurt. The face in the mirror was pale and gaunt looking. Suddenly, he was so tired he could barely stand. He grabbed a wash cloth and quickly washed his face, scrubbing away the cold sweat that was gathering on his skin.

He fell into bed, expecting to fall right to sleep. But even though his body felt bone tired, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings. He tossed and turned as his mind switched between complete denial of ever considering Butch attractive and the image of perfect lips wrapped around a lit cigarette, of strong arms braced against the doorframe of his storeroom at the school, of calloused fingers flicking a silver lighter back and forth, on and off.


	4. Chapter 4

He must have dozed off at some point in the night because the next thing he was aware of was the blaring of his alarm. He slammed his fist down on the offending machine and dragged himself from the tangle of covers. Stumbling to the dresser, he winced as he looked in the mirror above it.

The bags under his eyes announced his poor night's sleep loud and clear. He still looked like hell, but at least his stomach seemed to be cooperating this morning. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Today was going to SUCK.

He made it into the bathroom and had to laugh a bit as his stomach gave a loud growl. He showered quickly and shaved before slowly getting dressed and making his way downstairs. The house was always quiet this time of morning. He was always the first one up, and the silent house was soothing to his battered nerves.

He grabbed the coffee pot and started the drip. Breakfast had been delegated to him ever since it was discovered he could fry an egg. He set the old cast iron skillet on the stove to heat up and began the makings of a weekend breakfast. Eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, and toast all prepared as the smell of coffee permeated the downstairs. He was just plating up the last of the food as Gina came down the stairs.

She was wearing an old pair of cut-off jean shorts and a tank top, her long chestnut hair pulled up in a messy bun. She was all ready to clean. Pouring a cup of coffee from the pot, she grabbed a plate and took it to the breakfast table.

"You look like hell," she started as she tore her toast into pieces and sopped up the runny egg yolk from her plate.

"Uh… yeah. I didn't sleep that well. But I think my stomach is over it," he said as he joined her in the little windowed alcove that the table sat in.

"Well, that's good. What are you getting up to today then?" Their mornings always started the same. Even if all they had time for was cereal or a bagel, they always talked about their plans for the day.

"I'm going over to the warehouse; I've got a couple calls to make. We're almost out of coffee as well, so I'll take care of that. And… maybe I'll head over to the park later," he finished. He left out the reason he was going. He still had a decision to make there. Maybe he would just blow it off altogether.

"Well, I'll be here cleaning. I want to get the basement organized today too. Then I'm going out with Dean and Clair." Dean had been Gina's best friend since middle school. He had gotten into a great law school and was only home on the weekends now, so every weekend was spent out and about. Clair worked with Gina at the local bank where they were both tellers.

He finished the last of his breakfast, loading his dishes into the dishwasher and wiping down the counter tops. Saying a quick goodbye, he left the house and headed towards his self storage warehouse.

The storage container was filled with shelves containing all kinds of merchandise. Nothing in major quantities. Those were delivered quickly to keep the shelves clear. But some things needed to always be on hand.

He made a couple of calls, made a few orders, and managed to talk the manufactures of the aviator jacket Jodie wanted into giving it to him for less than half the price. The day was looking up. He was whistling as he closed up the unit and set the lock back in place. He was halfway to the car when he remembered where he was planning to go next.

He climbed into the driver's seat and started the car up. Instead of driving off, though, he sighed and rested his head on the steering wheel. All his energy seemed to drain out of him at the thought of going to see Butch again. This was getting ridiculous. Butch was one of the few people he would consider a friend in this world. Obviously, this was a problem he would need to take care of soon, or he was going to be avoiding Butch forever, and that, despite the current predicament, was not something he wanted to do.

He took a deep breath and shook himself out of his depressed state. Finally putting the car in gear, he drove the short distance to the park at the edge of town. He parked in the lot closest to the batting cages. It was only nine o'clock in the morning, but the day was already turning out to be very warm. He was glad he had decided on a pair of cargo shorts and a t-shirt instead of something heavier.

The walk to the batting cages was beautiful; the park was just coming back from the harsh winter, and everything was green and fresh. The smell of clean soil and grass clippings hung in the air. He came out of the wooded path into the row of batting cages. A quick inspection proved that no one was currently using any of the pitching machines. Off in the distance he could hear the dull thud of bat hitting ball. Following the sound, he came around the corner and onto the freshly mowed baseball diamond.

And there was the basis for his inner turmoil, standing on home plate, bat raised for the incoming pitch… shirtless. The morning was warm, and Butch had obviously been out in it for a while. He skin was slick and shining with sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead and neck. Corded muscles strained like a tightly wound spring in wait. The pitch came, and all the tension seemed to release in slow motion. Butch shifted his weight back and then forward into the swing as he brought the bat down. He pivoted to meet the ball head on, and the loud crack of the collision shot everything back into speed. Frankie watch mesmerized as the ball soared up over the field to be lost for a moment in the glare of the sun before reappearing just as it cleared the bleachers. It was a perfect homerun.

"OH MY GOD!" The shout came from the pitcher's mound, and Frankie finally looked to see who else was on the field. Ashley Spinelli was jumping up and down on the heap of dirt, her long, black, pigtail braids bouncing with her. Her green baseball cap nearly flew off her head with her excitement.

"DID YOU SEE THAT? That was perfect!" she was screaming to Butch, who seemed torn between smug pride and outright astonishment at his achievement. He leaned the bat against the chain-link cage and ran a hand through hair. That's when he finally looked up to see Frankie standing near the dugout.

"Not bad, Butch," Frankie praised tearing his eyes from the other boy. Butch's undivided scrutiny was making him uncomfortable.

"Saw that, did ya?" he asked. Butch had apparently decided on smug.

"Yeah, pretty impressive."

He watched as Butch grabbed a faded blue t-shirt off the roof of the dugout and used it to wipe his face and neck. Frankie had to avert his eyes again to keep them from wandering across the exposed planes of Butch's chest and abs. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as he realized just what he had been about to do.

"You're a mess, man," he said, trying to move the conversation along and alleviate the awkward lump in his throat. "How long have you been out here?"

"I don't know, I got here at seven, so… What time is it anyway?" he asked as he pulled the shirt over his head.

"It's a quarter past nine. So two hours then," he replied.

"Yeah, well. I'm not the only one who looks bad today. You sick or something?" Sometimes Butch was TOO observant for Frankie's liking.

"Uh… yeah. I think I'm coming down with something," he lied. He was a horrible liar. You would think in his line of work lying would be second nature, but beyond a little artful exaggeration, Frankie always fell short at out-right deception.

"Hey, Frankie! What are you doing here?" Spinelli called as she bounded over to them.  
>"Did you see that hit?" She was the perfect way to deflect attention away from him; he almost hugged her for it.<p>

"Yeah, I saw it. Must have been a lucky shot," he replied with a keen smile. He could hear Butch huff a laugh behind him as the other boy gathered up the equipment. "I just finished some work, and Butch said he'd be over here, so I decided to stop by."

"Awesome. Now we have three people to help find that ball," she reasoned. She led the way across the field and behind the bleachers. The ball was nowhere in sight, so they decided to split up and search the wooded area.

"So what are you doing here, Ash?" Frankie asked as he looked under a row of hedges. Spinelli had never completely gotten over the name Ashley, so most people still called her by her last name. Only a chosen few that were close enough to get away with it, and Frankie was always happy that he was one of them.

"I usually use the batting cages on the weekend. When I got here, Butch was already batting, so I agreed to pitch. I need the practice anyway," she said as she checked a path trash can. Spinelli was on every school athletic team that allowed girls and played on a sponsored girl's baseball team. When she wasn't playing, she was studying to keep her grades good enough to get in the Marines. She had plans, and god help the people that got in her way.

"Found it!" came a shout from a copse of trees over to their left. Butch shoved the lower branches out of his way as he stepped out onto the path. He held a scarred and pitted baseball in one hand, the other brushing pine needles from his clothes and hair.

"Finally," Spinelli said with a roll of her eyes. "I've got to get going. My track meet starts in an hour." She waved goodbye and started jogging up the path towards the parking lot. Frankie watched her go before turning back to Butch.

"So, what have you got planned for the rest of the day?" Butch asked. The tense feeling in his stomach seemed to double now that it was just the two of them, and Frankie had to clear his throat just to get it working.

"Not much. I've got to mow the lawn this afternoon, but other than that…" he trailed off. Saturday was usually a slow day. Tomorrow he would go into the school, set up shop for the week ahead. "How 'bout you? Any plans?"

"Nah. Joey's home for the weekend, and I have a paper on the Mayan's due Tuesday, but nothing major."

Frankie followed Butch as he led the way back to the field and took a seat on the bleachers. He stood a couple feet away, forcing his body not to fidget or, more likely, run away entirely. The silence hung over them, but unlike the comfortable silence they shared in the library, this was oppressive.

"I uh… I better get going," Frankie said. He ran a hand through his hair and groaned internally. He had just gotten done telling Butch that he had nothing to do and now he was trying to bolt. Butch just raised an eyebrow before moving to gather up his equipment for the second time.

"Yeah, I guess I should get moving too."

Frankie gave a half-hearted wave and quickly turned his back to the other boy. The walk back up the path went much faster this time. He climbed into the car and slammed door like it would shield him from everything he was feeling inside. He gripped the steering wheel, not even bothering to start the car. So much for taking care of it.

Eventually, he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. The drive home was a blur; it wasn't until he pulled into his garage that he finally came back to himself.

The Beatles' 'Can't Buy Me Love' greeted him as he stepped inside. Gina was in the living room on a ladder dusting corners with a broom. She was singing along and dancing as much as the ladder allowed. He waited until the song was over to call out to her.

"Hey! I didn't expect you back so soon. I thought you were meeting your friend this morning," she said as she climbed down.

"I did. It just… didn't take as long I thought," he answered. "I'm going up to my room. I'll get to the lawn this afternoon, okay?"

"Okay…" She looked confused and worried. The knot in his stomach twisted even tighter at the thought. He climbed the stairs and entered his room. Discarding his wallet and watch on the dresser, he flopped down on the bed. Burying his face in the pillows, he nearly hoped he would suffocate.

At two o'clock, Frankie finally dragged himself out of his room. Gina had left a while ago to meet up with her friends, and the house was once again silent. The garage was overly warm from the sun coming through the back windows, and sweat began to form on his brow almost immediately.

He pulled the old push mower out of the garage and into the driveway. Giving the gas gauge a cursory check, he pulled the cord and started the engine.

Most people hated mowing the lawn, especially with a push mower, but Frankie honestly enjoyed the time. It was good exercise, and the drone of the mower drowned out all outside influences. It was just him.

As the familiar routine of mowing took over, his muscles knowing exactly what to do without a thought, he turned his mind to the current predicamentt. He was attracted to Butch, a guy. What would Gina think, or his friends, or his clients? How could he run a business with that hanging over his head? No, if anyone found out, it would be horrible. He easily remembered how that arty kid Mark Fraize had been tormented in freshmen year for coming out. It got so bad that the poor guy had been forced to transfer schools.

More than his worries about other people's reactions were his confusion about his own. It was gut churning and exciting and miserable all at once. When he saw the other boy, he wasn't sure if he had butterflies or lead weights in his stomach. He couldn't look Butch in the eye anymore. He was ashamed.

And there is was. The perfect description for how he was feeling; utterly ashamed. All the expectations people had of him, and he was screwing it all up, the comfortable friendship he had with Butch, and he was ruining it. He should be ashamed. It was all his fault.

So he would just have to ignore it. In the next week, he would just have to train himself to get past it, to not let it bother him. He would not let this ruin his life. And maybe, if he worked hard enough, he could get over it completely. Maybe it was just a phase.


	5. Chapter 5

Frankie woke Monday morning to harsh grey skies and a cold, drizzling rain. The sun was completely blocked out by the heavy clouds. The half-light of the early morning made it nearly impossible to drag himself out of bed. He showered and shaved in a sleepy fog, then dressed and packed his bag before heading downstairs to make himself an egg sandwich.

"Morning," Gina remarked as she entered the kitchen and grabbed a cup of coffee. "You don't look much better today. Do you need to take a day off?"

"Nah. I'm just really tired. Didn't sleep very well last night," Frankie answered. He made a second sandwich for Gina before setting down at the breakfast table. Outside, streams of rain ran down the kitchen windows distorting the view of the front lawn. The heavy clouds showed no sign of letting up and promised a very long, dreary day. He said goodbye and grabbed a jacket off the hook in the laundry room. He was going to need it today.

The water lay in the low spots of the school's courtyard, creating huge puddles. Frankie pulled his jacket over his head and sprinted quickly to the front door, but by the time he made it in, his jeans were soaked from the knees down. A quick look around the lobby proved that he wasn't the only one with this problem. A few other early students stood about wringing out wet hair and attempting to dry soaked clothes.

Frankie's sneakers sloshed through the puddles on the old tile floors as he headed across the nearly empty lobby. Almost nobody came in as early as he did. The stairwell on the other side of the lobby was dimly lit by a bare bulb behind a wire cage. Old safety posters and peeling paint were the only things decorating the walls. The stairwell was more for janitors and maintenance than for the students, so little effort was put into maintaining it.

He took the stairs two at a time, heading down into the basement of the school. The narrow corridors twisted and turned, branching off in all directions and disappearing around dark corners. But Frankie knew just where he was going.

On the other side of the building, directly under the auto shop was Frankie's office. It used to be a storage room, but a little creative remodeling and he had a great office. All the old athletic equipment and worn out furniture had been trashed. The school would never miss them. A huge old desk from the set of some theater production now stood opposite the door, and shelves filled the rest of the room. Frankie threw his bag down behind the desk and flopped into the chair.

He was just pulling out the day's ledger and getting ready for the morning rush when the door to the office slammed open and two bodies fought their way into the room.

Carl Patterson struggled and forced his way to the desk. He grabbed desperately for the edge, and Frankie watched with amusement as his fingers slipped on the polished surface and he went down. Trisha Upton grinned triumphantly from her position on her boyfriends back. Her blonde hair was in its usual ponytail and her pink tank top was half-hanging off her shoulders from the struggle.

"Don't give him _anything_," she said pointedly, adjusting her top to properly cover herself again. "He's supposed to be spending his money on me, not on more toys." She was trying hard to sound intimidating, but Carl had begun struggling to get up, and her laughter was getting the better of her.

"Sorry, Trish. He paid in advance. This is just a pick up," Frankie replied. He leaned back in his chair while the two picked themselves up off the floor. Carl's bright red hair was a mess, and his clothes were rumpled and smeared with dust. Even though he had gotten his braces off in middle school, Carl had never really come out of his shell. He was still awkward and shy. It amazed Frankie that he could get, and keep, a hot girl like Trisha. In fact…

"Hey, Trish? Isn't your anniversary coming up this month? How long have you two been together?" Trish's smile became softer at the mention of the anniversary, and Frankie watched with fascination as a blush spread over her cheeks and she turned away from him.

"It'll be four years this weekend, I think," she said, and Carl nodded his agreement. Four years was a long time. Some marriages didn't last that long. How had these two managed that?

"So I gotta know, how did you two get together? Is Carl some secret Casanova?" Frankie asked as he made his way to the back of the room to find Carl's order.

"Nah, not really," she replied.

"I asked her out to a movie one Friday," Carl spoke up for the first time. "I think she only agreed because she didn't have anything better to do," He laughed a little at the thought.

"But we had a great time, and when I asked her again, she said yes. Then we started spending more time together. She even came to play D&D with me and the guys a couple times, and I went to some of her gymnastics competitions. I guess we just make great friends, and that makes everything easier."

Frankie paused at the back of the storeroom. _That makes everything easier._ He had to swallow hard to get rid of the lump that was forming in his throat. Not every little thing had to be about him. He grabbed the box off the shelf and headed back to the front. The two were holding hands and smiling when he came around the shelves. They really were great together.

"Here ya go, Carl. One set of _Warhammer_ miniatures. As ordered," he handed the box of unfinished models to the red head, who stuffed them into his backpack.

"Thanks a lot, Frankie. These things are expensive if you order them online." Trisha just rolled her eyes playfully. They left the office much more quietly than they had entered it.

Frankie hadn't even gotten the chance to sit down again before his door opened again and the torrent of students began to pour in. Mondays were always the busiest.

He filled the morning with work and classes. It wasn't until free period time that he hit a snag in his perfect day. He always spent the time in the library. If he didn't, Butch would certainly know something was wrong. But would the other boy do anything about it? They were not really close; maybe he would just brush it off.

Frankie pressed his forehead to the cool metal of his locker. He had to do this. With a sigh, he grabbed the stack of receipts from the morning and headed for the library.

Settling himself into his favorite spot on the floor, he began organizing and arranging his things. The heavy creak of the library door alerted him to the presence of another person. Despite his hyper-awareness, he still started when Butch tossed his backpack to the floor.


	6. Chapter 6

To the wonderful person who leaves reviews: I would love to answer your questions, but you never leave a way to respond. If you leave an email or something I would love to talk to you.

Also, there will probably be a longer wait for the next couple of chapters. I'm in the middle of a semester that is killing me. Maybe over the fall break I'll get something done. Thanks for sticking with me.

xxxx

Frankie always spent Wednesday afternoons in the park. He would park his car near the central fountain and sell merch out of the trunk. He liked the freedom of it, taking more time to talk to people than he could in school.

That evening had been really good. There had been lots of orders and even a few new customers. Ashley Q. had stopped by with her baby, easily entertaining him for over an hour. The little boy's high end stroller now had a brand new teddy bear plushy.

But it was getting late, and he had plans for the evening. Over the past two days, he had started to revise his theory for why he was attracted to Butch. It was simple, really. Butch was a great guy. Despite his panic and paranoia around Butch lately, they were becoming closer. The other boy was smart, funny, interesting, and most of all, he knew when to shut up. Frankie knew he had been flakey and skittish lately, but Butch never brought it up. This lead to his new theory: Frankie was not physically attracted to Butch. It was just his personality. Butch embodied the kind of person he liked to be around. He just needed to find a girl with similar qualities.

Now all he had to do was test this theory. Frankie was nothing if not thorough, and he _needed_ this to be over. So he packed up all his merchandise, pocketed the orders and receipts, and left the park. Gina was attending some seminar for the bank, trying to get her loan certification. She was staying overnight in the city, so he had the whole house to himself.

He stopped off at Sabatino's Pizza on the way home. It was the best pizza place in town, family owned since forever. The smell of peppers, onions, and baking bread greeted him as he entered the restaurant. The youngest Sabatino, Gilbert, was working the front counter. The boy would be a freshman at Oak St. next year and was as hyper as ever. It took no time at all to find his order and pay.

The smell of pizza taunted him the rest of the drive. Once he was home, he was finally able to dig in. He polished off half the pizza in no time before deciding to take some with him up to his room.

His plan was sketchy was best. All he really knew was that to determine if he was attracted to… men other than Butch, he needed to look at other… men. This was going to be painful.

He set his pizza on the corner of his desk and booted up his laptop. A few of the sites he was familiar with, populated mostly with curvy blondes and busty brunettes, also had sections featuring men. About three seconds of flicking through pictures and one disastrous attempt at watching a video, and Frankie had just about given up. The men featured were well muscled, shaved, and oiled until they shined. It was completely ridiculous and unappealing. He was just about to close the computer and declare himself the victor when another site caught his eye. It was a more a message board than a porn site. Most of the posts were about sex, people telling stories, comparing turn ons, and just talking about the dirty things they can't bring up anywhere else. He scanned several of the stories but quickly lost interest. He was looking for something else anyway.

He found it in the photos section. Scanning down the many pictures, he once again was disappointed. Or elated. He wasn't sure. He scrolled through pictures of half dressed men, some completely naked, and in other cases just their… equipment. He was just about to accept that his theory was correct when he found it.

The man in the picture could not have been more than a few years older than Frankie. He was just standing outside in a yard or something, shirtless and grinning. While the man was good looking, blonde and tanned, it was the smile that held Frankie's attention. He looked like the kind of person that smiled easily, his blue eyes crinkled at the corners and his shoulders relaxed. He wasn't trying to be sexy or seductive. It was just an everyday photo.

The heat that spread over his cheeks and down his neck was Frankie's first clue as to how affected he really was. The tightness in his pants was the second. He looked back at the image on the screen, really looking. The man was certainly handsome, tall and lean, all corded muscle and tanned skin. A light dusting of hair covered his chest, and a line of it trailed from his bellybutton to disappear beneath the waistband of his jeans. Frankie swallowed hard. It was strange to be consciously examining another man and appreciating what he saw, to be an active participant in the act. He closed out of the browser, having found the answer to his question, and shut his computer down.

He leaned over in the desk chair, propping his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. It seemed that this confirmed his theory, sort of. It really was Butch's personality that got to Frankie. The physical aspect was just a bonus. Great.

The throbbing ache in between his legs refused to go away, and Frankie sighed in aggravation. Standing, he tore at his zipper a little harder than necessary before kicking his pants and boxers into a corner. He yanked his shirt over his head and nearly stomped into the bathroom. He turned the shower on cold and stepped in.

The shock of the frigid water made him jump as he entered. His body's first reaction was to get as far away as possible, but he forced himself to relax and step back under the icy spray. The cold quickly took care of his problem, but rather than get out, he stayed. He stood under the spray until the water stung his back and his teeth chattered. Finally, he turned the water off and stepped out. Grabbing the nearest towel, he quickly dried off and wrapped it around his waist.

The bedroom was wonderfully warm after his shower, the heat of the day trapped in the now dark room. He flopped down on the bed, not even bothering to remove the damp towel. The warmth of the room slowly seeped into his numb limbs. Unfortunately, his mind wasn't as numb as his body, and soon the idea he was trying hardest not to think about was all he could think about. A heat that had nothing to do with the room spread through his chest and down into the pit of his stomach. With a groan, he looked down his chest to the quickly forming tent in the towel.

"I thought I got rid of you," he huffed as he flopped back to the bed. Briefly, he considered getting back in the shower, but that only seemed to delay the inevitable. Not for the first time, he cursed his teenaged hormones.

He tried to focus on his usual fantasies as he inched his hand down his stomach. The feeling of his fingers running though the wiry hair on his chest sent shivers down his spine. Slowly, he dragged his hand farther south, combing though the coarse hair below his bellybutton. Briefly, he wondered if this is what the blonde man would feel like if Frankie were doing this to him. As soon as the thought registered, he wrenched his mind back to a safer image. He ex-girlfriend was a favorite of his. The curves of her body and the smell of her sweat were usually easy to imagine. But she was becoming harder to concentrate on the closer he got to his target. Finally, he slid his hand under the towel to grip himself firmly. His hand was still cold and a bit of a shock as he wrapped it around the hot length of his cock. His toes curled into the sheets as he moved his hand up to the tip and back down. His ex quickly faded from his mind as he lost himself to the touch.

The towel fell away as his hand moved slowly over his shaft. He stroked firmly upwards and stopped to run his thumb round the edge of the foreskin, the feeling on the sensitive flesh making him shiver. He ran a nail along the slit and gathered the precum that gathered there, smearing it around the head. With the added slickness, his strokes were smoother and faster.

He drew his legs up under him and pushed himself back against the headboard. Even though the image of his ex had escaped him, the picture from earlier had not. The blonde from the photo seemed to occupy his mind and drove him to stroke faster. But it didn't last long. Soon, the tanned skin paled, the shaggy blonde cut dissolved into short, two-toned hair, the blue eyes that had captivated him turned dark and oh so familiar. He could almost taste the cocky grin that looked down on him. It was just too much. His hand sped up, and he bent almost double from the coiling pit of pleasure in his gut. He grit his teeth hard as he came over his hand and onto his sheets, the image of Butch fading slowly from his mind.

It was only when he started to see spots behind his eyelids that he finally relaxed and began to untangle himself from the bed. He grabbed a corner of the sheet and wiped the cooling mess from his stomach and insides of his thighs. Sighing, he looked at the mess he had made. The bed clothes were pushed down and off the bed and pooled in a pile on the floor with the damp towel. The sticky smear of cum on the sheet made him grimace.

Stiffly, he walked to the bathroom and cleaned himself up with a damp rag. He pulled on a pair of sweats, skipping boxers altogether. Carefully, he gathered up the sheets, wrapping the soiled one so he didn't have to touch it. When he was thirteen, Gina had showed him how to do laundry. It was decided that for both their sakes he should take care of this himself. He was always thankful for that decision at times like this.

He threw the sheets into the washer, added the detergent, and started it up. The washer hummed and gurgled, breaking the silence of the empty house.


	7. Chapter 7

Ahhh! It feels good to be back. Thank you to the people that faved this story and stuck it out while I was away. Also, a thank you to my beta FlipoutPenguin for getting this back to me so fast.

xxxxx

Butch leaned back in his chair. He took his glasses off and stretched his stiff muscles. The clock on his desk read 10:47, the glowing green numbers swimming a little in front of his tired eyes. He closed his math book, stuffing the sheets of work between the pages. It was time to stop for the night.

Flicking off the light over his desk, the basement fell into blackness, but Butch knew the room like the back of his hand. He made his way over to the old couch and flopped down, digging between the cushions to locate the remote. The eerie glow of the TV flooded the room, flickering slightly as Butch changed the channel.

He was about to settle on a documentary he had seen several times about ancient Rome when he landed on the late night movie. _The Bride of Frankenstein_ was just starting, and he settled in for a black and white classic. The movie hadn't even gotten started before he was interrupted by the ringing of his cell from across the room. He sighed and stood again, stepping over the back of the couch to reach the offending phone. He answered it without even looking at the screen, knowing only one person who would call at this time of night.

"What's up, Spinelli?" he asked as he flopped back onto the couch. The opening credits were just starting, but Butch barely noticed. He knew the movie by heart anyway.

"Not much. What're you doing?" she asked. A loud shout and a child's scream sounded from the other end of the phone. Butch winced as a crashing sound and more shrieks pierced his ears.

"What's going on over there? It sounds like you're being attacked." The noise was suddenly gone, replaced with the sound of muffled shouting. Spinelli must have put her hand over the receiver.

"Sorry 'bout that. My aunt is visiting with her four kids and they're really tearing up the place. Actually, I called to see if you could come pick me up. Get me outta here for a while."

"Ashley," Butch groaned, "It's almost eleven o'clock and I'm beat. I'm not getting off this couch." Another crash sounded, this time something glass, followed a stream of shouting and cursing.

"Don't call me Ashley. And you gotta come. Don't leave me here with this," she commanded desperately. Butch sighed and hauled himself tiredly to his feet.

"You owe me. Big time."

"Yeah sure, whatever. Just hurry." A click and the dial tone meant that Spinelli had just hung up on him.

Butch smirked tiredly and hung up. He stood and stretched his arms up to touch the low ceiling of the basement. His muscles ached and popped as he moved. They were stiff and sore from sitting in one place for so long. He cast a longing look at his movie before grabbing his leather coat off the stair railing. He snatched up his cigarettes and lighter off the desk and took the stairs two at a time.

The upstairs was dark; his parents must have already gone to bed. He could hear the low drone of the TV as it filtered down the stairs. Quietly, he crept through the house towards the back door. His parents were pretty lenient, but even they wouldn't like him going out this late.

The old screen door creaked lowly as he eased it open and carefully shut it behind him. The back yard was dimly lit by the light from the upstairs window. The small lawn was sparse, the grass worn down to dirt in some places. But the flowerbeds were neat, and the old wooden fence that separated their house from the neighbors was freshly painted for the spring. He picked his way through the yard around the side of the house to the driveway. The front of the house was illuminated by the street light at the end of the driveway.

Butch crept quietly up to the old pickup truck sitting in the drive. He had inherited the old blue Dodge Ram when he had turned sixteen. He opened the door quietly and levered himself up into the truck. He shifted the truck into neutral and climbed back down. Pushing the old truck out of the driveway was a skill he had mastered a few years ago. The driveway was on a slope, so it wasn't that hard. He maneuvered the heavy vehicle out into the middle of the deserted street and climbed back in; he started the engine and made his way down the street.

xxxxx

Spinelli only lived three streets over, so the drive wasn't a long one. The yellow-sided house had lights in every window, and he could hear the noise from the street. He waited for a few minutes, and was about to call and give Spinelli a piece of his mind when he saw the second floor window open. He watched with an amused smirk as a jean clad leg emerged followed by a pair of arms. Spinelli spun around on the window sill and eventually managed to lower herself from the sill and drop to the ground. He had to laugh as she tried to crouch and run at the same time.

"Hey, man!" she greeted as she climbed into the passenger seat. He just grinned at her as she dug into the worn out grey seat for the belt latch.

"Nice acrobatics, I loved your mission impossible impression," he said as she finally got situated.

"Yeah," she put on her best arrogant smirk. "Did that just for you."

"So where are we going? This time of night only the 7-11 will be open." Butch said, and started driving anyway.

"Ugh! I don't even care. Just as long as it's quiet." She had wedged herself into the corner of the seat so she could prop her feet up on the dash board, head propped against the window.

He drove around downtown for a while, the dark storefronts and empty streets reminded him of the scary stories he used to tell as a kid. He still loved to frighten people; now it was just more believable. They finally decided that the park would be the easiest place to go and sit. He parked the truck near the hiking trails and turned off the engine; he left the battery on though. The headlights illuminated the dark trails in front of them. The radio was playing Foster the People's 'Pumped Up Kicks' for the millionth time today, so he turned it down to a low whisper.

Spinelli just sat in the quiet of the truck cab, staring blankly out the window. While the silence wasn't uncomfortable Butch soon felt the gnawing need to move. He grabbed his jacket and stepped down from the truck.

Despite the coming of spring the nights were still cool. Butch pulled the jacket on and dug his pack of cigarettes out. The slamming of a door told him Spinelli had gotten out as well. He watched her from the corner of his eye as he lit his cigarette. He took a long draw, blowing the smoke out into the cold night air before walking to the front of the vehicle.

Spinelli was leaning against the bumper, arms crossed over her chest, hands jammed in the pockets of her grey USMC sweatshirt. He clutched the cigarette in his teeth and pulled himself up onto the hood of the truck to sit.

"So what's been going on? I haven't seen you like, all week," she asked, finally taking her eyes off the darkness. It was true he hadn't been around much these last couple days. Surprisingly, he had been spending more time with Frankie.

"Yeah, sorry. I've had other things on my mind. I didn't miss anything, did I?" he asked.

"Hah! Like anything interesting ever happens around here. And don't act like I don't know exactly what's taken all your attention lately." Her face was backlit by the headlights, an incredulous smirk on her lips. Butch couldn't help but grin back. She knew him too well.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, looking away and running a hand through the white streak in this hair.

"Oh yeah right!" she exclaimed with a roll of her eyes. "Frankie's been acting like a scared puppy lately, and don't act like that doesn't bother you. I know about your little crush, remember? So don't play dumb with me."

"First of all, it's not a crush. Shut up." He glared and pointed his cigarette at her as she tried to interject. "I just like the guy, he's a good friend. Shut up! And secondly, he's been acting really weird lately; I just want to know what's going on."

Spinelli glared at him before giving her best put-upon sigh. She hauled herself up onto the hood next to him.

"Okay. So you don't have a crush. But c'mon man, I know it's more than just friendship," she said. She was giving him that look. The one she'd used since they were twelve, the Don't-Even-Try-It look. "Listen…who did you first come out to?"

"You, but—"

"Exactly. And who knows you better than anybody?" she asked, knowing the answer already.

"You do," he answered with a defeated sigh.

"Exactly. Now, don't even try to lie. What's really going on?"

Butch took a long draw on his cigarette, blowing the smoke in a long plume out into the headlights. He watched as it swirled and danced in the light.

"I don't know. He's been nervous the last couple of days. I think it has something to do with me. It's like…he has to force himself to be around me. I just don't know what I did." Butch looked over at Spinelli. She was leaning on her elbows with her chin in her hands. Her long braids almost touched her knees.

"I don't know if it's you. I mean, he has been kinda pale lately. Maybe he's been sick. There are lots of other reasons he could be acting strange," she reasoned. He knew she had a point. Frankie had been looking ill lately. But Butch just couldn't shake the feeling that this was more personal than the flu.

"Yeah. I guess it could be anything. I'm just being paranoid." He took the last draw of his cigarette and crushed it out on the side of the truck, tucking the spent butt into his jacket pocket. "I've just got this feeling in the pit of my stomach. I just don't want to drive him off, ya know?"

He almost jumped when he felt her grab his hand off his knee. She threaded her long fingers between his calloused, blunt digits and gave a firm squeeze. She didn't look at him right away, just held his hand tightly.

"If that's what you think, maybe you should talk to him. He might not even realize he's been acting odd. It could all just be a misunderstanding. Either way, you can find out what's been going on." She gave him a reassuring smile. "Trust your instincts."

"Thanks, Ashley." He gave her hand a final squeeze before letting go and jumping down off the hood. He turned around and reached up to help her down, even though he knew she didn't need it.

"Hey, Butch?" she asked as she took his hand again. "You know… You know you're like, my best friend, right? You're like a brother. One that I actually like."

"Yeah, I know. And you're like the annoying sister I never knew I wanted." He winced as she punched him in the arm and got down from the truck without him.

"I guess we had better get home, huh?" she said as she headed towards the passenger side of the truck.

"Yeah, it's gotta be past midnight." He climbed into the driver's seat and checked the clock. 12:36. His parents would kill him if they knew he was out this late, and on a Wednesday night, too.

"Shit! My mom's gonna freak when I get home. She'll have noticed I'm gone by now," Spinelli said with a sigh. She kept running her braids between her fingers in a nervous habit.

"Maybe your mom will understand, considering the mess at your house." He tried to be reassuring as he started up the engine and moved off into the dark.

xxxxx

He dropped Spinelli off, deciding not to wait to see what happened. He would find out tomorrow at school. He didn't want to stick around and get in trouble as well.

The ride home was quiet, the radio just a barely audible hum. Butch used the short ride to consider what Spinelli had said. She was right, of course; he really did need to talk to Frankie, if nothing else, just to ease his mind. But she was right about more than that. He needed to deal with his stupid 'crush'. Frankie was a good friend. In fact, they had become even closer over the past couple of days; ever since the movie. He needed to get past his feelings for the other boy. There was only one problem with that: The more time they spent together, the more Butch grew to like the other boy. The two of them had always been friendly, even before Butch started smoking and relying on Frankie for his cigarettes. But the last year or so, Butch had just been noticing him more. Frankie was quiet in a sort of dignified way, never talking just to fill the silence. He was smart, and funny, and always managed to put everyone at ease. He was handsome too, with expressive brown eyes, great hair, and a tall, lean frame.

Butch blinked hard and mentally shook himself. So much for getting past his feelings. His mind had a will of its own when it came to Frankie.

He pulled the old truck onto his street. He was about to pull up into the drive way when he remembered exactly what time it was. His parents would surely hear if he just drove up and parked. Instead, he backed the truck up a few feet and killed the engine. The street was deserted, so he wasn't too concerned with being seen. However, pushing the truck out of the driveway was much easier than pushing it back in. The drive was sloped towards the street, and it usually took two people to get it back up. The last time he had been out this late, TJ had been with him and helped him sneak back in.

Quietly, he climbed down and looked up the driveway. This was going to be difficult.

He was just about to climb back into the cab when the gleam of headlights appeared at the end of the street. Butch quickly ducked behind the truck and out of sight. He watched cautiously as a green Volkswagen Jetta pulled up to the house across the street and turned off its lights. The interior of the car was dark, so he couldn't see who was inside. He waited, but the car didn't move or turn off. Finally, after about ten minutes of crouching behind the truck, the passenger door opened.

Butch heaved a sigh of relief. It was Kristen Kurst. She must have been out on a date. She was leaning over, back into the car when Butch approached the vehicle.

"Kris!" he whispered loudly. "What're you doing?" She jumped and nearly smacked her head on the top of the door as she whirled around to look at him.

"Geez, Butch! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" she scolded, holding her hand over her substantial chest. Kristen had grown up a lot since the third grade, and not just in height. While she would never be the prettiest girl, she had grown into her weight in a way that had most men drooling, all soft curves and pale skin. Her red-orange hair was styled into a low, curly ponytail, her bangs straightened so they lay flatteringly across her face. She was wearing a red, low cut dress and a pair of high heeled black pumps; she was definitely on a date.

"Hey, Butch. What's up?" came another voice from the other side of the car. Elliot Malone was stood up from the driver's side. His ever-present mirrored sunglasses were propped up on his head, his blonde hair a spikey mess. The other boy was taller than Butch, and more built. The former bodyguard still looked like he could take care of a threat.

"So, how was your night?" he asked with a cocky grin. If Elliot's hair was anything to go by, he knew exactly what they had been doing for the last ten minutes. He felt bad for interrupting, but hopefully he could talk his way into some help.

"Pretty good. What are you doing out this late? You find a new girl already?" Kristen asked with an equally smug smile.

"No. Nothing that interesting. Just met Spinelli for a while," he replied. He and Kristen had lived across the street from each other since forever; they were always in each other's business.

"So what did you need? Or did you just interrupt for fun?" Elliot asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Um… I was hoping I could get some help, actually. I can't get the truck up the drive on my own." Butch shifted awkwardly, running his hands through his two-toned hair.

The two looked at each other over the top of the car for a moment before Elliot threw his hands up in the air.

"Fine! I'll help," he said with a mock sigh.

"I'll help, too." Kristen chimed in. They closed the car doors quietly, and the three of them made their way over to the truck. Butch climbed up into the cab and put the truck in neutral. When he jumped down, Kristen was busy taking off her shoes and throwing them up onto the hood of the truck.

"What are you doing?" he asked. He thought it was a valid question, but Elliot didn't seem concerned about it.

"I can't push in those shoes. Okay, you steer, Butch," she said as she got behind the truck to push. Butch just shook his head in amazement.

The three of them managed to get the truck back in the drive, and Butch clapped Elliot on the shoulder. Kristen gathered her shoes off the hood and carried them rather than put them on.

"Thanks for the help. You two saved my skin. I'll owe you one," he promised as he backed toward the house.

"See ya later, I guess," Kristen gave a little wave as the two headed back to the car. Butch turned and made his way to the back door; he took his shoes off and quietly made his way through the pitch black house.

Once he was back in his room in the basement, he heaved a sigh of relief. He tossed his jacket over the banister and dropped his keys and wallet onto the desk. Making his way to his bed on the far side of the room, he discarded clothes as he went until he was down to just his black boxer briefs. He crawled into the bed, arranging the pillow and propping his arms behind his head. The last thought before he went to sleep was that he couldn't wait to talk to Frankie.


End file.
